In the Middle of Nowhere

Easter Island - or Rapa Nui, in the local language - is perhaps the most isolated inhabited island on Earth, almost half-way between Chile (3,700 km to the East) and Tahiti (4,200 km to the West). One might assume that it could be the stage for native, endogenous, unique species of fauna or flora, like Australia, or where animals behave unafraid of humans, like the Galapagos. Instead it's rather infertile, no lush vegetation,  no significant species to boast. A barren land, grass and bushes, the few trees being those introduced from faraway places. A Pacific island unlike the tropical paradise associated with the idea of a Pacific island, with just two small beaches but cliffs galore. Still it captures the imagination of so many, whether their interests lie in archaeology, anthropology, extraterrestrials, mysticism or exoticism for the sake of it. Not for their natural wonders, that's for sure.

What makes it unique is the civilization that blossomed in such isolation, developing their own set of rituals, their music, their dance, the MOAI. The cultural expressions, including the language, actually don't differ that much from what is found in French Polynesia, where the Rapa Nui apparently came from. But they started the main feature the island is known for, developing an obsession with the construction of ever-bigger rock statues - apparently for the protection of the dead clan chiefs on their tombs, statues that despite having singular facial features, are instantly recognized in their shape and proportions, becoming a sort of international icon, almost a brand and a symbol of mystery, a word in the dictionary.


Apparently - yes, assumptions still overwhelm known certainties about the Rapa Nui - the construction of the moai over 800 years led to the felling of all the island trees (for transportation of the heavy statues from the quarries to their platforms on the coast), impeding the building of large canoes that would ensure long-distance fishing and thus feed the increasing population, the resulting hunger and the hardships of rock carving ultimately leading to war, when the working Short Ears people revolted against the ruling Long Ears and toppled all the moai from their platforms. This time, decimation and havoc were not caused by Spaniards or other colonizer hungry for the islands non-existing precious metals or riches, but by the native population with their hardly unique moral and ethical dilemmas associated with vanity, pursuit of power, revolt against oppression and fight for scarce resources.


Paradoxically, the very moai that almost led to the extinction of a civilization are the ones that ensure today a livelihood for the local population of Easter Island, entirely dependent on tourism and related activities. But no mistakes here, the moai are fewer than one might imagine, maybe smaller than their iconic representation might suggest and the few that are standing were raised to their platforms more as a show of where and how they originally stood. Still they cut a powerful figure against a sometimes unappealing backdrop. What remains in their appeal must be left to the history they represent and the viewer's imagination - and maybe it's the extent of the imagination employed that gives the measure of how interesting - and worthwhile - is a visit to faraway Easter Island.

Closer to the sky in the heart of Asia

After a vicious breakup I feel compelled to reach for the mountains and put my act together, heal the wounds through strenuous hiking while breathing thin, pure air.  Well, it was not exactly like that. The breakup was not nasty at all - not even dramatic - and the trekking in the Himalayas had already been planned. All the same, as I slowly make my way eastwards, long flights, long waits, I feel increasingly yearning to be on my own, in communion with myself, tiny and unimportant, surrounded by the immensity of Earth's highest peaks.


Bewildering impressions from my short break in Delhi, more modern and cleaner than the Delhi I experienced eight years earlier, are quickly left behind as I get in a Royal Air Nepal aircraft bound for Kathmandu, as I realize the so few Westerners and the so many Nepali and Indians taking their seats, surrounding me with their peculiar features, colors and flashing point-and-shoot cameras, recording their soon to start flight to the Mountain Kingdom, or simply home. For me, it is like regaining a lost feeling of bewilderment by the exotic, the mysterious, the assault on the senses that became ever harder to experience the more I traveled and saw. But for renovating the spirits, for an assault on the senses, there's always Asia to count on. And here I am in the heart of it.

And two weeks later... I find myself in a plane bound for Delhi.  Yes, the mountains are impressive, massive, solid, snow-capped, sometimes looking at us below, zealous, or simply indifferent, Pumari, Nuptse, Ana Dablan, standing as forever, oblivious to the movement of people, locals and tourists, the yaks, cows, asses and their cargo, all filling with life the numerous paths and passes that crisscross the Khumbu Valley. The scenery is breathtaking at times, changing from riverbed luxuriant vegetation to high altitude pines, bushes and flowers, then to barren land, where the only colors are the brown of the earth, the snow white of the mountains and the blue of the sky. Surrounded by beauty I was, but not simply a postcard, a slide landscape. It had to be attained, conquered after long and sometimes strenuous hours, trekking on rock and sand, going down 300, 400 meters, just to cross a river bridge and then go up again other 600, 700 meters, in a slow and never-ending pace towards the next village and night rest. The hard exercise, the submission to altitudes of over 5,000 meters were part of the plan, in my preparation of even higher altitudes in the Andes. They were welcome, they allowed me to be more conscious about my body, my physical strengths and limitations, and the power of my will to overcome exhaustion. And that's one of the appeals of a trekking or expedition. To know oneself better, to better oneself. The Himalayas fulfilled my purposes.

What a pity that the attack on the senses I yearned for was matched by an attack on my skin, caused by an underestimation of the effects of the sun at high altitude coupled with an allergic reaction to an antibiotic, resulting in skin burn on 2/3 of my body and an incredible swelling of my feet and hands, making me spend my first comeback days at a hospital in Bogota, needles, blood, serum, pills, bed, boredom. There was indeed a price to pay to be closer to the sky in the heart of Asia. Higher than I had anticipated, but nonetheless worth it! 

Beach

Is a text really necessary?

The sand, the sea

Los Roques, Venezuela 

The sea, the scenery

Fernando de Noronha, Brazil

Tragedy on the mountain

Tragedy on the second day. I slip while crossing a stream and fall in the water. I don't get hurt but my clothes are all wet and my camera, which was in my pant's pocket, and not in the inside pocket of my waterproof jacket, gets wet too. The pictures I'd already taken are saved in my iPad, as there was no damage to the SD card. But the camera is dead, kaput, no matter the patient exposure to the heat emanating from the gas burner, the pleas, the prayers.

Being in one of the most amazing places on Earth without a camera might be good cause for despair. But after some reflection, no alternatives left, better to consider a camera-less life as something in the realm of the possible. Better to turn a fatality into an inevitability then into something else. Maybe it could feel liberating, no more stoping here and there to try the best shot, not having to worry anymore if the battery and its spare, impossible to recharge in the mountain, will last enough to catch the final moments of the journey, the summit.

Oh, the summit! I could always ask someone there, in case there is someone there at the same time as I, to take a picture of me smiling or with an expression of total exhaustion beside the sign that testifies to my reaching Uhuru Peak, the highest point in all of Africa. I could try to impress on my mind the images I see, in order to preserve them until my lucid years are still a reality, not worrying about showing them to other people, posting on Facebook or the like.

In the course of such thoughts, suddenly I realize that I still have an iPhone with me, and, after checking its battery life - at a healthy 2/3 - I come to another conclusion: a camera-less journey to one of the most amazing places on Earth is not a possibility I'm prepared to consider, if I can avoid it. How the iPhone's 2 mb camera will fare under less than optimal light conditions and with no zoom, is something to be found out. Certainly no match to the 14 mb resolution and 14 optical zoom of my dead Canon. At least the dead camera might be replaced by a new one, as the salesman at BH Photo managed to convince me, for the first time ever, to purchase an additional warranty that covered accidents like the one I had. If only I can find the receipt when I get back home...

Anyways, not that much of a tragedy. Not as disappointing as not reaching the summit, even a summit without a camera or iPhone battery. The first moments without the camera proved hard. I keep looking around as if framing the shots. The iPhone camera is limited but its major drawback is the battery, that will decrease faster as the weather gets cooler. I have to refrain myself, waiting for more stunning images in the four days ahead. I can't help but think that maybe if there were no cam at all, I'd be less frustrated than by having it at hand but "unable" to use it, like having a chocolate bar on the table in front of you when you promised yourself that you, for once, would not skip the diet. Better not to have the chocolate bar at all. Still, I'm happy to have the iPhone as a second best. All the while, Mount Mawenzi with its crested snowy peak looks so close, and so majestic. The iPhone will have to do. But there's more to it. As it is slowly enveloped by clouds that look rather like a diaphanous veil, there's a magic that also embraces me and that no camera, no whatever its resolution, could really capture.